


Second Chance

by Insane_Tomato



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, angel skeppy, but things are gonna be sad thats how i describe it, demon badboyhalo, demon redemption au, descriptions of what happens in hell, hell ig, hell torments people and basically bbh gets tormented sometimes its fine its chill, idk how to tag that, okay so theres a ton of like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insane_Tomato/pseuds/Insane_Tomato
Summary: After around an eon of suffering in one of the hottest places in hell, Darryl was surprised to open his eyes to an obnoxiously bright room. It wasn’t every day a demon was offered a chance at redemption, after all.
Relationships: Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 149
Kudos: 830





	1. Chapter 1

After around an eon of suffering in one of the hottest places in hell, Darryl was surprised to open his eyes to an obnoxiously bright room. It wasn’t every day a demon was offered a chance at redemption, after all. 

It was a quaint oxymoron, to see a jet black, shadowy figure with neon red horns and tattered clothing standing in the middle of endless white light from all directions. He was told heaven would be comforting, but the sheer light alone was giving him a headache. The only lights in hell were slightly red and at the brightest, a dim yellow. Those lights were rare. 

It was unclear who put him here and who was going to meet him, so he wordlessly stood and waited, glancing at different directions. There was no object in sight, there was no sign he was even in the right place. Most people would be amazed at the power of the holiness in this room, but Darryl wasn’t a person. He was a demon, and he felt annoyed. This wasn’t where he belonged. 

No one had even given him a heads up, or a warning, or anything to tell him where in God’s name he was. However, he figured he was in the stupid redemption area reserved for human-turned-demons. Why else would he be here?

The brightness of the “walls” were burning into his eyes, so he just stared at the “floor” like an idiot and pulled up his hood, even though it wasn’t much more dim than the endless shade of white. He stared at the crumbling flesh of his feet, worn down from wandering the heights and depths of hell. There wasn’t much to do there but suffer anyway, so all he did was walk along the endless borders. He couldn’t remember the last time he had the chance to lie down. 

There was something to his left. Upon instinct, he straightened back up and raised his fist. It came swinging down, and was covered by a different hand. It was smoother and softer than his. He focused his vision and was staring down at someone with tan skin and ebony hair covered in cream robes. At least they weren’t as bright as his new hell. 

“Easy there, big guy. No one’s gonna hurt you. Heaven’s not about that,” the most likely angel spoke. Surprisingly, his voice wasn’t too deep and holier-than-thou. If anything, it was bright and bubbly. And very, very, annoying. 

He kept his fist up, still covered, but he closed his eyes. The light was really starting to bother him. “Mind telling me where I am? You and your stupid God can’t communicate for the world.” His eyebrows were carved into a permanent glare on his scarred, shadowy face, and he didn’t relax. A gullible demon was a stupid demon; he couldn’t take the chance that this was all fake. Hell was tricky. 

“I’ll just ignore that last part. You’re in the redemption center, and I’m your mentor for around ten years or so. Mind walking with me?” His voice was really starting to egg him on. He was so used to deep, gravelly voices; it’s been centuries since he’s heard a relatively normal voice. It was so high pitched to his ears. He could now see the endless light through his shallow eyelids. This may be the longest he’s ever closed his eyes in a while. The hell hounds were more likely to destroy you when you were asleep.

His fist was lowered to his side, but he wasn’t the one lowering it. He didn’t unclench it. “If I have to open my eyes, I may throw up. Heaven is too bright for me.” He probably looked really stupid just standing there with his eyes closed, but he may go crazy if they opened again.

There was laughter, but it was obvious the angel wasn’t mocking him. “A once in a lifetime trip to heaven, and you complain about the lighting?” Was murder justifiable if someone’s voice was too obnoxious? “Here, let me hold your wrist and guide you. I didn’t bring sunglasses or anything.”

With that, he yanked his arm away before he could grab it. It rested in the air. “You’re not holding my wrist. I can handle myself.” It was practically suicide to let anyone touch you for too long. There was still no proof this place was actually heaven. 

“You’re making this so complicated, dude. Just let me hold your sleeve then. I don’t want you tripping.” With hesitation, he felt his sleeve being pulled at. He shook it away. 

He stood still, head tilted down and eyes squeezed shut. “I have walked for centuries straight with no breaks in Hell. I can walk in a straight line with my eyes closed.” There was no chance an unnamed angel was going to touch him. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure when the last time someone actually touched without hurting him was. It must’ve been from when he was human. “Tell me your name, then start walking. I’ll follow.” 

The angel sighed. “I’m Zak.” He heard footsteps, and he reluctantly followed. “You’re not too touchy, are you? I guess most demons wouldn’t be.” He didn’t respond, he was already tired of speaking. “This is my first time guiding someone through redemption, so just be a little patient, okay? I’m still not quite sure what exactly to do.”

They walked in silence for a while, Darryl following the sound of his voice, footsteps, and the sound of relaxed wings dragging on the floor. He assumed he was going the right way, there was no real way to be sure. The light outside his eyelids never faded. 

“Y’know, one of my friends went through redemption. He goes by Dream; no one’s sure what his real name is. But no one asks, either.” Hell didn’t seem too bad compared to this angel’s rambling. “I got to see him in the middle of his program. He was pretty nasty; in a way, he was kinda like you. His mentor, Nick, apparently got a ton of bruises every single day. He was pretty feisty.” The light faded just a bit, and the material under his feet changed. There was still light, but it was much dimmer than before. “But now he’s cool. Though he is a little rebellious. We’re here, by the way.” 

He slowly opened his eyes and only saw a dark wood floor. Now that they were open, he almost missed having them closed. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was. 

Were they in a house of some sort? Cautiously, he lifted his head up. They seemed to be in a sort of living room in an indifferent cottage. There was a couch and two armchairs behind a window. It was frosted with precipitation.

“This is a house, Darryl.” He whizzed around, staring down at Zak. It was strange how… human he looked. The only thing that was noticeably angel was a small beacon of light over his head and soft, feathery wings on his back. They dragged onto the floor. 

“How do you know my name?” He was only a few inches taller than the angel. In hell, he was very short. Demons often ranged from six feet tall to eight feet tall. He forgot how pitifully small most people were. 

The angel stepped back. “I was told your name before I got here, dude. But anyway, this is the house we’ll be staying in, alright?”  _ We? _ “This here’s the living room, the kitchen’s over there, and there’s two bedrooms there. You get your own.” He faintly gestured to each room. “They’re both the same layout, so just choose which one you want.” 

Finally, an excuse to leave. He turned on his heels without a word and chose the door on the left. Behind it was apparently his bedroom. It was sickenly cozy. 

The bed was shoved into a corner just under a window, decked out with multiple pillows and different style and fabric blankets. There was a grand wardrobe next to it, but he couldn’t really see why. His clothes fit him just fine. There was a simple armchair across from the bed, and a bookshelf next to it with random books he had never heard of before. When was the last time he read something? 

There was a second window to the right of the armchair, and he found himself drawn to it. It was pleasant clean glass, and behind it was not endless light, but endless trees. They seemed to have been in a sort of forest. He placed his hands on the glass; it was cool and damp. He retracted it back, unsure if it was just water on the window. He opted to place it on the windowsill instead. 

Each tree was different. Some came up to his height, some came up above the house. Each one was coated in green leaves, and he could smell something earthy and light beyond the glass. The forest floor was littered with leaves and stalks of grass, and past a few feet from the house there was a bed of wildflowers. He’d think it was beautiful if he wasn’t so suspicious of his surroundings. How the hell was there a forest when there was previously just endless light? 

Everything about the endless white was gone. The sky was now a pale baby blue, and it seemed to grow darker by the minute. He tilted his head with the clouds. He had forgotten how the day/night cycle went. The sky rested comfortably above the trees, seeming to whisper something unheard. Darryl couldn’t make it out. 

“You do realize you can sit down, right?” He darted his eyes to an unfamiliar grin. What was there to smile about? The angel was leaning against the doorway, watching him in curiosity. He hated that glance. 

He tore himself away from the scenery. “I’d rather stand.” He leaned against the wall. It was the most rest he had given himself in years. 

Zak nodded, and his hair bounced in a sort of wave while he moved his head. “I’ll leave you alone for tonight. Get some sleep, okay? Long day ahead tomorrow.” 

“Demons and angels don’t need to sleep. And I don’t think I’ve slept since my second year in Hell.” 

He blinked in response. There was no doubt he was unfamiliar with just how bad Hell can be. “Well, you can sleep anyway. Nothing’s gonna happen, dude. I don’t think you can physically get hurt in heaven, anyway.” 

Humming in response, he looked back at the window. It was an odd and peaceful sight. The door closed, and there were faint footsteps leaving the room.

He stood against the wall and stared out the window all night, wondering how the bark of a tree would feel against his palms. 


	2. Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im not dead. basically i was gonna scrap this but i changed my mind. please be gentle, i know this chapter sucks. but i seriously have covid. wear your masks to save a kyle.
> 
> i hope yall enjoy, and im sorry i spent so long updating this. its no longer scrapped! horray

The restless program Darryl had to follow took about ten years to fully complete. He wasn’t sure how long it would actually be to him; time altered heavily from Earth to Heaven to Hell. He didn’t question it either; it was obvious that he was only expected to follow Zak’s lead. 

His night was spent looking out the frosted window, and the morning was cut abruptly when there was a subtle knock at the door. He let out a sigh and tore his eyes from the trees. The angel was standing in the doorway, a cautious look in his eyes.

“Hey bud,” he started. “How do you feel?” 

“Annoyed.” Darryl turned back around to look at his surroundings. It was nice to look at a backdrop that would never change, and it was also pleasant that he stopped seeing threatening shadows out of the corners of his eyes. Maybe that only occurred in hell. 

He heard footsteps behind him, and he reminded himself not to punch the angel. It wasn’t his fault he was stuck with him, after all. He just had a job to fill. He faintly remembered his old job from his past life; maybe that’s why he got sent to hell. He was never told why in the first place. 

Zak appeared into view, and though Darryl was irritated, he didn’t say anything. He could’ve told him to find a different window, but that didn’t seem custom to Heaven’s cultural manners. They both quietly observed the forest, silently agreeing that this was the closest they could be for comfort. 

“Did you want to go outside?” The angel looked at him, head tilted when he asked. The small orb of light atop his head followed him; it was a pretty neat characteristic. Still, he refused to look him in the eyes. What color were they again?

“No.” He could see Zak tilt his head in disappointment, but he could care less. “I don’t trust a place that was once light, but it’s now… this.” 

“I can understand why you wouldn’t trust it,” he began, “but it’s better to not question things here. God just makes things work, you know?” Darryl shook his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t trust a God with poor communication skills.” 

The angel hummed in response. And so they spent the day simply observing the glass, wondering what the next would bring. 

@)---'--,---

Observing the outside with Zak might have been nice, but now Darryl would trade anything he had for the idiot's head on a stick. 

“Come on dude. You gotta go outside, it's not that hard! It'd be better if you would." This conversation had lasted about thirty minutes or so, much to his dismay. He had been trying to get him to go outside “because you loved the view so much” even though he clearly didn’t want to. It was nice observing something, but he didn’t dare trust something that had an unknown or mysterious origin. 

The argument had started by Darryl touching the window, and Zak insisting he should then go outside. He sometimes wondered what chaos went through that strange man’s mind. He didn’t know how to tell him he was simply suspicious of things he couldn’t understand without having to say it three thousand times over. 

“I know I can.” He was leaning to the side of the window, no longer looking through it in hope it would help him win the argument. Zak had opted to argue by the bedroom door. “I just won’t.” 

They continued pointlessly bickering, the both of them too stubborn to quit. They both used pointless and inaccurate reasonings for both sides, and while Zak was laughing throughout some parts Darryl couldn't figure out why he would. 

"Oh I get it!" The angel piped up. "You're too scared!"

"What?" There were few things he truly despised, and one of them was being called scared. He didn't fear anything- he had been forced to face most of his fears in hell. Nobody with a brain would call him scared.

"Well it's okay if you're-"

"I'm not scared." The angel was really testing him now. What kind of ignorant bastard would say such a thing!?

Before he realized what hole he had dug himself into, Zak grinned at him, rightfully pissing him off. "Prove it."

He had two options here. He could remain stubborn and win the argument with the cost of his pride, or he could prove that he wasn't scared of the mysterious forest from nowhere at all and walk out the door. It was undetermined which option was better for him.

So he pushed past Zak and walked out the door.

The second he opened it he was hit by a million different senses at once. The sky was a dull shade of pink from the setting sun, and the smell… the smell of the forest was earthly and sweet and _nice._

It had been a long time since he found something more pleasant than this. He could smell what he assumed was flowers, and the wind softly kissed his arms through the holes in his sleeves. It rippled through his hair, and his clothes shook from it delightfully. 

He found himself paused at the doorway, not from fear but from comfort. It was almost overwhelming, but in the loveliest way possible. The outdoors seemed to sing to him, desperate to be explored. He took a deep breath, and the world breathed with him.

He took a step forward. The small cobblestone path which lead to the forest brushed against his hole ridden shoes. He could faintly feel the smooth stone very pleasantly on his skin; it didn't hurt like Hell did.

Slowly, he approached a tree. The wind sang in his ears as he did, and he could feel small blades of grass on his feet. The closer to the tree he went, the more the earthly scent filled his nose and lungs. It was something he knew he had felt before, but he couldn't remember when. 

Thus, he was standing in front of it. It looked greatly different from when he was looking at it from yards away; he could see each individual piece of bark wrapping itself around the trunk, and it towered over the suddenly small demon. He raised his hand, ignoring it's trembling.

Cautiously, he put it on the tree. He had expected it to be smooth, but it was calmly rough against his withered palms. He pressed a little firmer, and it dug into his hand just a little bit, leaving marks when he pulled it back. He couldn't bring himself to leave. 

He heard the small crunch of grass behind him (had it made that sound before?), but he didn't find himself angered this time. He didn't bother to look behind him either. The angel appeared beside him again, right in his peripheral view. 

"How did it feel?" Thinking about it now, Zak's voice was a little calming when he wasn't being annoying. It was sad to say that wasn't the case most of the time, however. 

He thought about it before answering. "Rough." He blinked a couple times, though he knew he didn't have to. "But not in a bad way." 

He saw the angel nod. The small light above him flashed irritably. "Why were you scared?"

He chose not to answer, because he knew they both realized the truth. Darryl was a lot more fragile than they realized, even though he was fresh out of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really said "characterization? we dont know her." sorry this is so bad ;_;


	3. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bring to you: a semi long chapter! enjoy! (and thanks to everyone checking in on me, it means a lot :) )

It had been months since Darryl had first gone outside, and he made a point to never go out again. Even though what he had experienced was pleasant and thoughtful, he couldn’t get past himself to trust in something he didn’t see. He knew this was a fake realm, created by possibly a higher angel than he knew. He knew God didn’t care enough to build the two an entire realm.

He did, however, finally will himself to sit down after a year of standing in this realm. A sigh escaped him as he finally rested and leaned back into the plain black armchair across from the window. The shining day streamed through the curtainless window, and for just a breath of a moment, he trusted his surroundings and closed his eyes. It was peace: an old, unfamiliar friend he’d like to know deeper. 

However comfortable he was, he opened his eyes again. He could sense someone outside the door, and to his nonexistent surprise, Zak was peering at him through the opened door. Had he opened it while his eyes were closed? Shame. He should have paid closer attention. 

“You’re sitting,” the angel said, dumbfounded. 

“I am.” 

Strutting over to him, he gently laid his head on the armchair, as if he was wanting to share the space. Darryl didn’t mind. “You seem tense, though. It’s just an armchair.” 

Cracking his neck, he hesitantly responded, “I still have a hard time trusting this… place. It doesn’t seem real, because I know it’s not.” He looked at Zak; so that’s what his eyes looked like. They looked like endless deep, black caverns of a fantasy world. “And I think you do too.”

He looked away, seeming to be disappointed with the answer. “If this isn’t real to you, what is?” It seemed he was just fine with believing in the unknown. Darryl clearly wasn’t. 

He found himself staring into space. “I don’t know. I barely know if I’m real from time to time.” He tilted his head, seemingly confused and waiting for elaboration. “For all I know, I’m blacked out in Hell, waiting to wake up again. Or I’m human, waiting for this nightmare to end. Or your God is just toying with what I see. Maybe I’m real, maybe I’m not. I don’t quite know how to explain it, but I seem to be the least real thing here.”

“Am I real?” 

Darryl looked down at him, and somehow, with the last unhealthy pride he had left, he gave him a smile. “You’re too stupid to be fake.” 

“Hey!” Zak lightly swatted his shoulder, laughing loud and bubbly. It sounded sweet and familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it from. He found himself chuckling along. It was unfamiliar. 

They sat like that for a while, blissfully and comfortably silent. The sun raised for a few moments, but of course, the obnoxious angel couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. 

He took a breath, paused, then let it out. Then he finally asked the question that the both of them couldn’t answer. “Why are you so afraid of God?”

Darryl hummed, looking for an answer as well. He leaned forward in the chair for a minute, bringing his hands to the sides of his face. He paused like that for a few moments before giving a mediocre answer. 

“It’s not fear, I wouldn’t say. I’m confused on how someone can believe in God.” He figured that would suffice, but the angel didn’t.

“But it’s so simple to believe!” He straightened himself out, stretching a little. “I know God works in mysterious ways, but-”

“And there’s that phrase again. ‘He works in mysterious ways.’” He sighed and cracked his knuckles, amused when Zak winced. “I can’t find myself believing in someone like that.”

“It’s just devotion.”

“It’s blind devotion. And I don’t want to be blinded to have faith.”

There was silence after that. The two agreed to leave it at that; it was understood that neither of them would change their mind.

@)---,--’---

Darryl opened his eyes, gripping the armchair. He didn’t mean to doze off like that, and damned if he’ll do it again. He was still uncertain if the house he was in was real, and if he was really here for redemption. 

He looked to his left. Zak was dozed off as well, seemingly comfortable with his head resting against the arm of the chair. He paid no mind. Careful not to wake him, he slowly stood up and walked out the room and to the kitchen. Where he was going he didn’t know, but he was tired of sitting down.

Sitting down had almost made him sore again, but as much as he’d hate to admit it, it made him feel better. His legs no longer threatened to buckle under each step, and he didn’t feel as heavy as before. It really did help him, but he didn’t necessarily want to make a habit of sitting down. What if he went back to hell again? 

He paused when he saw a mirror on the wall above the kitchen counter in the corner of his eyes. It was very oddly placed, but it was there; it had a simple and thin frame surrounding it. Looking back on it, he couldn’t remember when the last time he saw his reflection was. What color were his eyes again? Weren’t they red, or black? He turned and looked.

He couldn’t look away. Though he thought his form was simply layered shadows, it appeared he _had a face._ And the thought of that terrified him. Maybe he had always figured he was built of shadows and cloth because that’s all he could see in hell. He never imagined he could be made of flesh, or whatever he was made of.

His skin was a pale, pale shade and his eyes were the strangest color he had ever seen. He had figured his eyes were red or black for decades, but here they were, a mix of the blue sky and green leaves of the trees. His face had such a distinct shape, but he couldn’t name it; and his mouth and nose fit perfectly atop his flesh. If there was ever something that would remind him that he was real, it was not his reflection. Why wasn’t he shadows?

Why wasn’t he shadows?

His hands began to shake. This wasn’t him, he never had a form to begin with. He tilted his head, the reflection followed him. The only thing they agreed with was his simple horns, red and cracked, about ten inches tall. The rest of his features were unknown, they were foreign, ugly, and despicable. He would rather be the ugliest demon in hell than admit this as his form. 

He heard something in the background but he didn’t care. His “face” had color, why wasn’t it a shadow? He hated the shade of puke his eyes held. Even his horns didn’t look the way they felt when he touched them. His hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed for years, and it was the wrong shade of brown. Everything looked fuzzy, but his reflection looked fuzzier. This wasn’t him. He was shaking, this fake reflection was shaking, but it wasn’t him. They both raised their fists, expecting it to crash down against each other.

Zak caught his fist just like they had first met. It took everything Darryl had to not attack him. 

They stood like that, the angel blocking the hideous reflection and the demon shaking miserably with the most terrified expression on his face. Their eyes, no matter their color locked in on each other, and that was all they knew. There was a tense silence that was only broken by the uncharacteristically patient grin on Zak’s lips. 

The angel reached behind him and slowly turned the mirror over. He finally relaxed, forcing himself to lower his fist. There was no danger now. He could go back to believing his lies of his appearance.

He was suddenly pulled in closer. Zak was gripping him, but it wasn’t rough or out of anger; it was something unfamiliar to even the depths of Darryl’s human life. His tanned arms were around his neck, and his head rested comfortably in the crook of his neck. He stood there like an idiot, wondering what to do. This wasn’t something he knew. 

Very slowly, he hugged back, sneaking his arms around his back. He was warm, but not uncomfortably hot. Their figures seemed to fit naturally, and the longer they kept hugging, the more comfortable Darryl was. He hid his head on Zak’s shoulders, and held him tighter. Why was he shaking?

They stayed like that, not wanting to discuss what just happened. He couldn’t find out the words to describe what he went through, either. The halo above the angel served as a small spotlight to the duo, paving light as the sun through the windows slowly set. He rubbed circles on his back, never opening his mouth to speak. It was time he shut up, anyway.

They let go at the same time, with Darryl composing himself to at least appear okay. That’s all he wanted for right now. Zak looked up at him, and asked if he was okay without ever saying a word.

He nodded, lying to both himself and his angel. It would suffice for now.


	4. Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

During the pitiful months that lead up to the beginning of his new life, Darryl had taken a significant interest to not only the window immersing promises to an outdoors, but he had taken a liking to the armchair beside it as well. There was something otherworldly calming about the scene which was perfectly unfamiliar to him. The way the trees stood perfectly tall and never changed was peculiar and strangely comforting to him. 

The object he was currently focused on was a worn and torn book firmly in his hands. He didn’t recognize any of the symbols stamped on the cover; it had been centuries since he had even thought about a book. He toyed with the leather in his hands, tilting his head with it in a sort of rhythm. He didn’t realize he had forgotten to read eons ago. 

He opened the book to the first page and the perplexing symbols stared back at him once again. It seemed to be written in the English language, but he couldn’t be sure. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember each sound the letters would make, especially when put together. 

“Reading?” Darryl slammed his book shut, as if he was caught doing something wrong, and snapped his head to the door. Zak should really learn to knock every once in a while. 

“Something along those lines,” he muttered. Realizing how embarrassing it must be to not even know how to read, he mused to toy with the edges of the book instead of look him in the eyes. Though he almost missed them by some odd means, he couldn’t force himself to meet him. 

The angel was beside the armchair again, breaking obvious personal boundaries. “What is it?” Without asking, he took the book in his hands. “A fable book, huh? You should have been alive to hear most of these, I think.” He opened to the middle of the book, glancing over a passage. 

Desperately hoping he’d fit in, Darryl pretended to read with him. The letters and words blurred together in his mind, spinning like an old memory. It was strange; somehow he could figure out the point of each sentence while it still remained a mystery to him. 

At one point, Zak looked up to him with a perplexed expression. “Can you… read this?” It appeared Darryl’s disguise didn’t hold as he wanted it to.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t had the need for reading in a long time, I can’t understand a word in that book.” He wished he was lying. 

He nodded, then looked back at the book, flipping a few pages in. 

Then he started to read out loud.

“Wait, what in God’s name are you doing?” Darryl interrupted. Here he was, being treated like a child. He could figure out how to read by himself, should he really want to. 

“Dude I’m reading it out to you, so you can learn and stuff. You can like, follow along or whatever so you can learn the English language again.” And with that, he kept reading out whatever passage he was reading from. 

Eventually Darryl caught up to where he was reading from; it seemed to be a story about a princess finding a frog. It was unfamiliar to him, but as he followed along with the story, he could somewhat regain focus on the sounds each letter made. 

In between stories, he found himself paying less attention to the story itself and more on Zak’s words and how he read the stories. His voice was low but still had it’s passion mixed in it’s inflection, and even though the stories seemed quite boring, he easily gave them life and depth. He also observed how his facial expressions ranged while he spoke, inserting emphasis on phrases and syllables. 

He didn’t feel like he meant to treat him like a child, but simply teaching a lesson to someone curious about this subject. Though it was a small thing, he really appreciated it. He seemed to understand this was something out of his control; he didn’t realize just how long it had been since he’d read anything. 

And so the two sat, sitting and reading different fables with varying degrees of amusement within them. Though Darryl couldn’t completely recall how to read again, he could understand how much Zak truly cared about him now. 

@---,--’---

It had been hours since the duo tuned back into the faked world around them, and it was unclear if they truly minded. But even heaven had to end somewhere, and eventually Zak stopped reading. They ended up getting off track and discussing whatever was under the sun. 

It had been a while since Darryl had had a nice, long talk with someone without it ending painfully. It was a familiarity he didn’t quite recognize, but it felt nice on his tongue. During their meaningless conversations he could feel himself smiling, but he was confused as to why he was. He had previously figured there was no reason for him to smile ever again, but he may have proved himself wrong. 

It was only then he realized just how close the two were at that moment. Zak’s head was leaned up against the crook of his arm, while his hand gently rested atop his. Darryl himself was slouched in the seat as relaxed as he could will himself to be, leaning into the angel himself. He didn’t quite remember how they ended up in that close of a position, but it was strangely nice. He hadn’t been touched quite like this before. 

Without thinking, he grasped the other’s hand. He felt as he flinched against him for half a second, but held his hand back with no hesitation. It was nice; Zak’s hand was warm and it seemed to fit with his in a perfect rhythm. It was the closest he had been to peace in a long, long time. 

Eventually the conversation between them came to a stall; there wasn’t much to talk about that didn’t spiral into past years and trauma. They had dismissed their attention to the amount of times the sun had risen and fallen while they were together, but Darryl couldn’t help but notice the scene as the fake sun fell beyond the false window.

As the room darkened, Zak’s halo seemed to shine brighter, but it wasn’t as obnoxious as before. Or had he just changed how he looked at it? He kept observing the oblivious sight. His head was rested on his upper arm, head tilted away from him. His hair was in a perfect mess, as it usually was, and if he didn’t know better he’d reach out and touch it. It looked so soft. 

Once the room finally went dark and there was little light besides the halo next to him, he felt as though he could rest in that one spot forever. He closed his eyes, giving a soft sigh as he finally relaxed. Though he knew he didn’t need to sleep, it seemed to be the polite thing to do. 

The angel next to him never moved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is kind of short. i dont really feel like continuing this anymore, but ill try and update here and there


	5. Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

Time was confusing and strange for Darryl; most likely because he hadn’t experienced time in Heaven. It was slow, yet so terribly fast. Before he knew it, he had spent three whole years in this fabricated cottage of sorts. He couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or if he was terribly annoyed. 

Oftentimes he found himself wandering while his mind fell behind his feet, and right now was one of those times. He assumed he gained the habit from the lengths he had travelled in hell, for he couldn’t necessarily remember his real human life. Some instances, however, would never leave his mind. 

He looked at the world around him. For some reason, his feet had taken him outside again, but he wasn’t as hesitant as he was before. The house was a good twenty yards behind him, and he was standing in a field of flowers, all different and vibrant colors. It smelled sweet and fragrant; he couldn’t quite remember where he had smelled it before. 

With certain hesitancy, he sat down amongst the weeds. The flowers and overgrown grass were now up to his stomach, and it appeared that the closer he was to the ground, the sweeter was the scent around him. It was a pleasant change from where he had originally come from. He mindlessly picked at the flowers, pausing when he came to a pale blue one. There was something about the color blue he had enjoyed so much, perhaps because it was the opposite of the dark red that loomed over hell. He picked it out of the earth, and could almost hear the flower singing back at him. 

Footsteps approached, but he didn’t really care to look behind him. A figure he was unfortunately familiar with sat next to him, making sure not to flatten any flowers as well. The dimming and orange sky seemed to compliment Zak’s skin, kissing every inch that it saw. Darryl wished he was the sky. 

For a long while they sat in complimentary silence, observing the evening sunset together as they sat in that same field of flowers. Out of the corner of his eyes, the demon saw the angel fiddle with weeds and flowers; he didn’t mind. For all he knew, it was all fake and would come back the next morning. 

“So,” Zak started, “What made you come back outside? I thought you were still afraid of it or whatever.” 

Darryl rolled his eyes, still staring off into space. “I was never afraid. I just don’t quite trust it.”

“But you’re outside now? How can you be outside if you don’t trust it?” 

“I don’t know,” he responded plainly. It wasn’t a lie. 

And while Zak was fiddling with grass and flowers, the both of them returned to the comforting silence that cloaked them with the feeling of velvet. The wind breezed through their hairs and their clothes, and the clouds were scarce enough to never block the setting sun that seemed right in front of them. Listening closely, the flowers sang with a silent hymn and the trees joined with their bass voices. The forest wasn’t theirs, it was it’s own life with it’s own breath and it’s own voice. And it was beautiful. 

As the sky dimmed to a lively red, the angel spoke up. “I have a more personal question, if that’s okay. You don’t have to answer it though.”

“Shoot.” Maybe he was in a good mood, but he missed his voice in the silence. It was soothing when he wasn’t a prick. 

It took him a few moments to gather his wording. “How… did you become a demon? They don’t tell us how humans become demons.” He paused, seeming to wonder if he was crossing a line. “If you are a human turned demon, that is.” 

Darryl sighed, sitting up and finally facing him. “I am, I was once a human.” He looked at the angel and what he was fiddling with; it seemed to be a crown made of flowers. How silly. 

He stared at him in silence, seeming to wait for him to go on as he fiddled with his crown. It was an odd mess of rainbow, which coordinated yet clashed at the same time. 

“You get sent to hell as a human, and sometimes He will offer you a chance to be revived again. The way you get revived is you have to play a game with him. If you win, you go back to your human life.” He paused, giving himself time to forget. "He being Satan, of course."  


“And if you lose?”

Darryl looked away. “You become a demon, and most of your memories are ripped from you. The only ones that tend to stay are the worst ones.” It was unfortunate he remembered the way he had gotten himself to hell. 

“I… see.” It was hard to take Zak seriously with a flower crown posed in his hands. He placed it beside him, lying down on the grass as it slowly turned darker into the night. “Do you remember any good memories?”

Darryl joined him in laying down; it might be his favorite part of this world. He could lay down whenever he pleased, with no risk of his health. “Let me think.” He placed his arms behind his head as he watched a number of stars slowly appear. 

He couldn’t remember anything great about who he once was, and they both knew that. They settled for the half thought of answer, and laid together in solemn peace once again. Hours seemed to pass as they watched the sky turn from blue, to navy, to a deepened black. There seemed to be no apparent plan to head back inside, which Darryl was thankful for. It was pleasant to see the nicer side of Zak, the side that didn’t wake him up for stupid reasons or throw a pillow at him at random moments. 

“What about you?” This was probably the first time Darryl was the one to break the quiet built up between the two. He wasn’t trying to be polite; he was legitimately curious as to who he was when he was human. 

Zak thought a while, then turned to his side to face the other, smiling when he did the sane. “I’m not sure,” he started. “It’s been a while since I died. I’ve never been one to dwell on the past, but I remember how I died. I’m pretty sure that I was murdered, but it was faked as a suicide.” 

The demon was quiet again, remembering the torment of his past life. “A murder, huh?” He tried to hide the rising of his voice, desperately fading his fear. “Why?”

“Dunno. I was alive in the middle ages, so sometimes people got murdered for no reason.” The angel turned to his back again, and so did the demon. “The guy who murdered me was probably part of an organization, or it was his job, or something. I did a pretty good job of pissing people off back in the day.” He ended his sentence with a laugh, but Darryl simply stared at the sky in fear. 

The stories and memories matched up, for the worst memory Darryl had of his human life was his last paid murder. He had been assigned to kill a man with ebony hair, tan skin, and beautiful brown eyes. He had screamed and cried for mercy the entire time, almost refusing to die, unlike every other person he had killed. The last thing he remembered was the lights dying out in his eyes, and his hands being coated in crimson; the whole thing had taken around an hour. He shivered, and wondered if Zak remembered, or if his memories were deceiving him.

They laid in silence once again, but it lasted until daybreak, when the stars had faded and the sun rose behind them. When he looked over, Zak was asleep. There was no doubt he had killed him when they were both human. 

He carefully stood up and walked towards the cottage, wondering if there was a way out of the program. He belonged in Hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another updateeeeeeeeeeee, i feel a ton better thanks for yalls concerns!!! i am 100% okay, please enjoy this mess. please ignore the complete lack of characterization.


	6. Year Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys i was going to scrap this again but hey i didnt ok ily

To Darryl’s demise, Zak had been noticing how distant he’d forced them to become. Sometimes days passed without them saying a word, and sometimes the obnoxious angel forced them to communicate, no matter how uncomfortable it was. He just couldn’t bring himself to face the man he had killed when he was a human. It was the worst memory he could think of.

They had gone a month without speaking before Zak gently knocked on Darryl’s door. He had opted to stay in his room this entire time. For some reason unknown to him, he vaguely spoke for him to come in. It was unsure if the words were his or someone else's. He stayed in his armchair that he started to leave less and less often.

“Hey,” the angel started as he quietly stepped in the room. It was all he said, but it was enough to make Darryl realize how much he truly missed him. He still refused to look him in the eyes; he was afraid he’d fall in love again. He opted to nod in response. If he spoke it might come out garbled. For some reason, his eyes felt warmer than usual. 

With silent agreement, he went to sit on the edge of the unused bed. Darryl had gained a horrible habit of sleeping in the armchair. The silence between them was horribly thick and it slowly drowned the both of them in the most horrendous way they could think.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Zak spoke up, stupidly. Darryl figured it was obvious that he was avoiding him. This was the first time he saw him in a month. “Why?”

His body was contorting against him. His eyes felt hot and heavy, and his throat closed up to allow no air to breathe. He didn’t need to, of course, but that didn’t mean this was a comfortable feeling. Glancing at his hands, he noticed how they shook. What was happening to him?   
He forgot to respond, so the angel responded for him. “I know you killed me years back.” 

There was a strange source of water on Darryl’s cheek. He immediately brushed it off, or really more smacked his skin until it was gone. The corners of his vision were getting fuzzy so he closed his eyes. More water appeared out of nowhere. Instinctively, he covered his eyes. What the hell was happening to him!?

His shoulders started shaking and, desperately trying to breathe, his throat made sounds that resembled hiccups and struggles. He was panicking; this had never happened to him since he could remember. He kept pitifully trying to fight the stream of water storming out of his eyes but the more he scratched and clawed at his eyes, the more the water rushed. His mind was a panicked fog and any time he touched anything, regardless if it was his own skin, it was overwhelming to where he’d cry harder.

_ He was crying.  _

Relentlessly, tears streamed down his face as he sobbed and sobbed, every memory of every person he had killed in his past life flashing through his skull and his mind like lightning in the sea. Eyes flashed, piercing his own, each pair more desperate than the last. Visions of hopeless people soaked in crimson blood and mangly intestines screamed in his ears, and he could only think, think, think of how he deserved to be in hell. He wasn’t in his armchair, the one place he trusted; he was back on Earth creating nightmares from the palms of his hands. He dreamt of blades of knives, ropes of hay, desperate pleas and haunting screams. It was like he was caught in a twister of lies and half memories, half memories he lied to himself. How many times had he lied to himself, insisting his job was fun? How many people had he murdered? Was it five, ten, fifteen, fifty? 

He didn’t notice the hand on the small of his back, pressing just deep enough to remind him it was there. The only things that were real to him was that feeling and the storm of tortured souls that he had taken. It was the first time he let himself draw upon the fact that he had done it, he had killed the person sitting next to him. 

His shrunken chest ached from sobbing and screaming, and his throat had gone scratchy. He was so, so exhausted and his mind wouldn’t give him a break. His loud cries turned into silent hiccups, affecting his breathing and his stamina. 

He opened his eyes. Everything was a blurry grey. He blinked, and the angel’s halo beamed slightly above him. Now he was looking into the same eyes he cried about, but they were kind, open, and accepting. There wasn’t a smile on Zak’s face, but it was more of a patient line etched into his perfect skin. He had switched his hands from his back to haphazardly around his neck, slowly inviting a hug. Darryl had been forgiven. 

Without hesitation, he returned the hug, with him sitting anxiously forward in his chair and Zak returning the gesture on his knees, sitting up. Darryl rested his head in the crook of his neck, whispering seamless apologies that he couldn’t hear. He was probably hugging too tightly, but in the moment, he didn’t care. Hot tears flooded onto warm skin and they both shook with some power that changed Darryl himself. He couldn’t name it; he had never felt it before. 

The sun, uncaring, set and the room slowly darkened. The halo above Zak’s head shined lovingly, acting as a substitute for some semblance of humanity. Slowly, his shoulders stopped shaking, and his throat opened up so he could gasp for breath. He poked his head out cautiously and forced himself to break the hug; they couldn’t stay like that forever, after all. 

Cautiously, as if he were approaching an animal, the angel gently placed a hand to his cheek. Though he flinched, he graciously accepted it. It was like being held as a young child. His eyes closed on his own. Neither of them opened their mouths, silently agreeing upon peace. 

Zak stood up, gently grabbing his wrist. He complied, eyes half open. He was so exhausted and emotionally drained. It had been a while since he felt like this. He found himself lying in the singular bed with the other; it was soft and amazingly comfortable. 

There was an arm thrown around him lazily. He couldn’t quite remember how they got here, but he didn’t complain. Hesitantly, he snuggled closer against his chest. It was funny; he couldn’t recall angel’s having heartbeats. But it drummed with a hum, a beautiful hymn that lulled his eyes closed. 

“I love you,” Zak mumbled. 

A minute passed.

“I love you too.”


	7. Year Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE

Neither of them spoke about that night. Darryl’s pride was too strong, and Zak didn’t seem to care that much that it happened. Maybe he assumed it would happen at some point anyway. It was appreciated that he kept his mouth shut, however. 

Six long years seemed to pass near the speed of a long blink. Where at first the demon hated seeing that stupid idiot’s grin, now he seemed to miss it when he couldn’t find him. They found themselves talking more and more, sometimes about the past, sometimes about the present, but never about the future. It was still indeterminate if there was one. 

Out of force of habit, he found himself in the fields outside the house again. The flowers hummed a welcome back song, the trees nodded in approval. There was something almost nostalgic about the field; if he could ever remember, he could say it resembled his human life. He never would be able to.

He sat down, fiddling with flowers and humming a tune he didn’t know. He could somehow piece notes and rhythms together without thinking; it had been a while since he listened to a hymn or song. He didn’t question what his mind was making up. 

“You’re… humming.” Of course, the peace and quiet had to be ruined. He opted not to respond to Zak and kept humming. 

A voice that wasn’t the flowers nor the trees or the sky followed along in a sort of harmony. He frowned in confusion, looking towards the other person. Tilting his head, he paused his song. How could this be something he knew? His mind was telling him what to sing.

“What’s wrong? Dude, do you not remember?” God, he was confusing. 

“Remember what? A melody my mind’s making up?” When in doubt, answering questions with more questions surely made a conversation more easy to follow.

“You don’t… remember, huh? It’s a hymn we’d sing in our past life. I thought you were….” He trailed off. “Nevermind. But I remember us living in the same village, didn’t we?”

Darryl looked at him dumbfounded. He was wrong. This conversation was getting harder to follow by the second. “I don’t… know. I thought I was just humming nonsense.”

They both trailed off, observing the sky together. Then the angel started to sing.

_“Once there was a maiden so fair_

_Who’s love ran off, she didn’t dare_

_To follow his path; she wept alone._

_She cried in her room,_

_She built her own tomb,_

_A stone for her and her alone._

_Oh cry, fair maiden,_

_Cry for your love,_

_You’ll never find him_

_‘Til you’re flying with doves.”_

The air was silent for a short while; nobody made a sound. The hymn of sorts made the sky silent with love, and the trees hushed to hear more. The grass welcomed the sound. His voice and his voice alone could fill the void that was his heart. 

“...That’s rather morbid, don’t you think?” Darryl lied in the field of flowers, while the angel opted to stay sitting up. “A metaphor for suicide?” He was trying to fill the silence without compliments. Truth be told, he wanted him to continue. It was strange how his brain remembered a single melody, but never the words. Was it all slowly coming back?

He could hear Zak’s eye roll from above. “It was the middle ages, dude. Everything was morbid.” It wasn’t as if he soured the mood, but it certainly shifted. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to. 

“Your voice is… pretty.” The words left his mouth stupidly, falling out like a casm. He closed his words off in case more slipped out. He laughed at the compliment. What was so funny?

“Well, thanks. I never considered myself a good singer.” He turned to look up at him, admiring him from below. To think of it, he was a very attractive person. The sky seemed to give him more life. 

He continued singing, albeit softly. He didn’t mind. Laying his head back down, he could nearly envision the story as it was sung. A woman lost her husband due to suicide, and battled her inner emotions about it until she was of old age. It wasn’t until she was on her death bed when she could finally accept what happened, and as she looked back upon her life, there was nothing but sorrow to look back on. 

He closed his eyes, absently humming along. He didn’t quite remember the song, but he could faintly recall a memory absorbing his senses.

@)---’--,---

_He sighed as he rested against the door to his room. There was blood splattered on his hands and his clothes were ripped and tattered. She hadn’t gone down without a fight. Looking at his fingers, he found his nails were chipped. The day had been painfully, painfully long._

_He opted to wash up in the morning. It wasn’t as if he had visitors, anyhow. Slinking into his poor makeshift bed, he sighed as he tore off what remained of his shirt, depositing it onto the ground. He took a last glance of the handcrafted, mildewed wooden walls around him. His father made it himself. His face had been forgotten._

_Bundling under the horrid, itchy cloth he had managed to afford, he hummed his favorite song to himself. It had always comforted him after work. He tried to push the poor woman’s screams out of his mind; it never worked. But the song was nice, anywho._

_His eyes closed on his own, and a frown followed it. He had an assassination for a tanned man named Zak in the morning. For some reason, he wasn’t looking forward to it._

@)---’--,---

Darryl sat up. Zak stopped singing.

He had just remembered something. 

His eyes were widened. Still smelling blood, he looked around. He was back, making music with the flowers and the trees with the sky to applaud. The grass shook beneath his palms. The grass shook? He looked at them himself; they were violently shaking. 

He had just remembered something. 

The angel grabbed said shaking hand, politely smiling at him. Did he know? It didn’t seem like a second of time had passed. How would he know?

“Hey, Darryl.” His perfect voice snapped him out of his morally crude thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Your horns are gone.” The program was working. He was slowly being given redemption. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard someone say this was their comfort fic and. I absolutely love you! I love you! That's such a big compliment! I love you! I LOVE YOU!!!!


	8. Year Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im bad at updating but hey! 10k! nice!

Darryl’s memories and track of time had been excruciatingly disorienting since he found out he had basically been given redemption. Sometimes he woke up in cold sweats, remembering odd details or specific scenes from his past life. It was never anything big; it was only memories such as white lies he told, general days and starry nights. It always surprised and scared him; he wasn’t used to being conscious of himself. 

A clumsy white light flashed over his closed eyelids, prompting him to immediately sit and wake up. His reflexes weren’t that dull. An innocent angel ducked out of view just too late. A giggle promptly followed. 

“And what exactly are you doing?” he questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Unfortunate to note, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Zak was never sneaky. 

“Nobody’s here!” he called, giggling shortly after. He rolled his eyes and turned back into bed, pulling the covers over his face.

“Well,” he began, “if nobody’s there I’m going back to sleep.” He then closed his eyes and pretended to instantly fall asleep. It was the first time he’d gone along with the tiring gag. 

There was very quiet shuffling, then slightly louder wrinkling of the covers. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to-

“GOTCHA!” Zak screamed at the top of his short and pathetic lungs, instantly tackling him and pinning him on top of the bed. Darryl didn’t scream. Not at all. He doesn’t scream. 

The angel laughed deviously as the demon tried to regain his senses. “Zak, you absolute muffin!! You scared the life out of me!” Muffin? Where in the world had that come from?

The strange swear pseudonym only made Zak laugh harder, which in turn made Darryl start to laugh as well. They both choked on their words, uttering frivolous phrases that neither of them could understand. 

Eventually, the two stopped their chaos and the angel rolled his way off of him, lazily stretching out in bed and still giggling. “‘Muffin,’” he laughed, “Where did that even come from?” 

“I don’t know?” he covered his eyes; they were tearing up but in a very good way. His shoulders bounced up and down awkwardly. This was the first time he had laughed in a very long time. 

@)---’--,---

Somehow they both had fallen asleep in their fit of happiness; it was strange, Darryl didn’t remember falling asleep. However, when he opened his eyes, the same tan skinned man was facing him with his eyes shut as well. How quaint. 

He found nothing better to do than to get out of bed. Though there was nothing he really had to, or could do, it was comforting to pace and to think. His feet found him to the living room, to the spare room, to the kitchen. 

The kitchen. With the mirror. 

He paused, The mirror was flipped over as it had stayed. An unconscious mind told a conscious hand to flip it over. He stared into his eyes for the second time. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as he remembered. Sure, he looked wrong, but he didn’t look… horrible. His face was brighter, in a way, than he remembered, and his horns had vanished; there were two thin half crescent scars where they originally were. The dark shapes under his eyes were lighter as well, and his eyes didn’t look as ugly as he remembered, though they weren’t attractive to him either. 

He took a light step back, but he didn’t want to attack his image this time. Strange how time works. He turned the mirror back in case it might happen again, however. 

“Whatcha doing?” a morbidly curious angel piped up from behind the counter. He nearly jumped out his skin; maybe he was a little sneaky from time to time. He heard a giggle behind him and couldn’t resist a smile. His laugh was cute.

“Trying not to get spied on every second of my life,” he sighed. He turned around and saw Zak leaning by the wall. Obviously he was trying to look cool, though it never worked. He hoped he didn’t see the entire ordeal. 

He giggled, moving from the wall and going to sit on the counter. It was confusing why he never sat in a chair, but rather, places you really shouldn’t sit on. “Why were you looking at yourself again?”

Shrugging, he leaned against the counter next to him. “Dunno. I just felt like I had to.” He felt a weird look cast his way, but promptly ignored it. “Why do you always observe me when I’m not looking, you muffin?” And there was that word again. Why was he saying things he never had previously? So many questions. 

The pseudonym made Zak laugh again. “That’s such a stupid word! Why are you using it as an insult?”

“I don’t know! I just… said it?” He found himself laughing along, casually burying his face in his hands when he did. It was supposedly a gained reflex from when he considered laughing a weakness. How things have changed. 

He kept giggling about how stupid his life was getting, and when he eventually stopped, he turned to realize Zak was staring up at him with some sort of dazed fondness. Tilting his head in confusion, he pondered what he was thinking about. 

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

That wasn’t what he expected. He also didn’t expect himself to immediately kiss him right then and there with no questioning at all.

His lips tasted like warm honey suckle and windy memories lost from damage to his brain tissue. They made him forget where he was, who he was, and who he had yet to be. He was being hugged, and he somehow had his arms draped around his neck. Zak’s hands felt around gently up his upper back, seeming to never want to let go. Darryl didn’t want to let go either.

He felt dizzy but in such a calming way, and his eyelids flashed with neon blues, purples, and reds. His knees locked and unlocked and though he never needed to breathe, he couldn’t. It was passion and love and right and wrong all at once; and when he broke the kiss, he left overwhelmed. His eyes felt dazed, as if they were made of glue, and his imaginary heart threatened to beat out of its rib cage. He was back in the present. 

The present had never felt better. 


	9. Year Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god oh fuck im a live hey guys pls ea se sub escribe

They had decided not to barge or rush into any labels, names, or other frivolous stuff. Occasionally they had talked about it but they ran into the same answer each time: they loved each other and that was enough for them. Labels weren’t necessary. 

There were times Darryl woke up yelling and kicking some foreign enemy either invisible or completely fake. During those moments of time where reality and his dreams never aligned, Zak was still there for him. He felt guilty. This was wrong. 

Some days they chatted for hours, some days they stayed completed silent and seemed to purposefully ignore each other. Their love was complicated, vaguely uncomfortable, and somehow taboo. An angel seemed to be much more pure and “correct” than a reformed angel would be. 

Dear God, Darryl would be an angel in two years. 

Currently, the duo were lounging on the couch together, close enough to almost consider them cuddling. Darryl’s head was leaning into Zak’s neck while he carefully rested an arm around him. They seemed comfortable; it was obvious something was on the confused demon’s mind.

“Did you need to talk about something?” He patiently looked up at him, sighed, then opted to lay his head in his lap as he lied on the couch. Much better.

It took him a second to transfer the words from his heart to his brain to his throat to his mouth to his tongue. It stung all the way up. “Do you know… what happens if I, if I, get redeemed?” His body almost visibly sighed. It was a question he had since the beginning. “What happens next?”

Zak played with his hair a little bit, gently musing it back and forth. “Well,” he began, “I’m not… entirely sure? I was just told to redeem you. I wasn’t told how, nor why, or even what would happen if you failed or not. I just kinda, went for it? I dunno.” It wasn’t an answer he hated or loved; to be fair, it was barely an answer. “But I can tell you what happened to Dream?” 

He nodded, not caring to speak. The gentle feeling atop his head felt nice. If anything, since his stupid journey to the mirror, his hair was probably the one thing he didn’t especially mind. It looked nice; it was somewhat long and had a nice, dulled shade of brown to it. He trusted Zak with it.

“Basically, from what Nick told me, Dream eventually calmed down, right? When he went on to completely be an angel, he was a little freaked. He told me he got his memories back, every single one at once, almost like he went through them again. When he, ‘woke up,’ he was back in his world with Nick. They tried to leave their house later but when they opened the door, it was just white. They went through and found everybody else.” He paused his rant, waiting for Darryl’s thoughts.

He was listening on an almost vague level, almost understanding; it was like reading a foreign language with the same sentence structure as the original language; bits and pieces could make themselves together but the idea remained a blurred mystery. The most he could focus on were the inflections and dictations of Zak’s speech patterns. Though he was practically terrified upon what happened after this, his voice could soothe him. 

Debating on the slew of questions he had, he chose a single one to get him to continue. “Where was everybody else?”

He paused, seeming to think. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like this somewhat… like, this kinda… uh, place that just everyone is?” Thank you Zak, very good answer. “It’s almost like a house but there’s nothing in each room. Think of the layout of a mansion, but no furniture and all in different shades of white.”

Humming in response, he focused mostly on the feeling of his hair being brushed about. He could fall asleep like this; he was safe, he was warm, he was comfortable. The conversation someone fell gracefully to the floor, almost like stray cobwebs in a dusty wind. Quiet introspection whispered through the room.

Thinking about it now, Darryl could almost hear things he felt nobody else could. His hair made slight shifting sounds as it was being messed with, the house seemed to creak in a sturdy, yet unrecognizable rhythm, and the outside hummed with the sound of laughter. He wondered what was so funny. He figured he’d never know. 

His mind started to wander without the guide of voices to distract him. He was a little terrified of exactly what two years time would bring; who were the other angels? What were they like? Would he be an outcast? Would he be shunned? Disregarded? An outcast?

Though, he could still fail, after all. Maybe he could go rogue and attempt to kill Zak. Maybe he could go insane and scream at him, throw things at him, tear him apart… 

He chose to stop thinking about that. Those thoughts frightened him because he knew he was capable of performing them. 

He still wondered if what happened to the other guy would happen to him. Would he relive those memories? They aren’t very good memories, especially from what he could vaguely remember. 

Was he ever a real person to begin with?

There wasn’t any proof still that any of this was real. Zak could be fake, a hallucination sent down from God; this house could be fake, this chance of redemption could be fake. Maybe it was a new part of hell; maybe they tricked him into thinking he’s worth a damn. 

He sighed, closed his eyes and snuggled in closer to Zak’s lap. He would stop thinking about that, at least for now. Right now, he was okay.

He was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey whats up


	10. Year Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is a moment from a year in BBH's redemption program.

This was the longest the odd pair had been silent towards each other in quite a while. It had been a month since they last talked, and three days since they physically saw each other. 

It hurt. It hurt a lot. 

Darryl found himself staying in his room, sometimes struggling to read those scattered books in his bookshelf, and sometimes staying in bed under covers for elongated periods of time. The covers were soft and felt of feathers, but they never seemed to be dirty. Come to think of it, he wasn’t dirty at all either. He wondered how he suddenly got cleaned; didn’t he come here covered in dirt? 

He sighed, turning over on his bed. It was a difficult barrier to cross; neither of them wanted to seem too needy or too affectionate. Almost battling their pride, they refused to acknowledge their love and their loss interchangeably. And it wasn’t like he was going to swallow his pride, either. He decided upon sitting and sulking, just like how Zak was probably doing. 

Thinking as he lied in bed, he reflected marginally on how he had changed. Whereas the first year he was cold, never touchy and strong, he seemed to have softened up. He couldn’t decide if this was a good or bad thing; God, he used to be so strong. Maybe he wasn’t a highly sought-after demon in Hell, but he did know how to get his way out of any situation that came. 

He was weak now. 

Forcing himself out of bed (it had probably been a week since he first got in it), he dragged himself to the kitchen. He didn’t know what he’d find, but he’d find something to entertain himself. 

Inconspicuously enough, there was a set of kitchen knives apparently used to cook something. Chuckling to himself, he remembered that he didn’t need to eat anyway. He picked up one of the smaller knives; he didn’t quite know what it was for. 

It was flimsy and cheap, sporting a sad plastic handle and a dull, somehow unused blade. Without exactly thinking, he chucked it at a wall like he had not only in Hell, but many centuries ago as well. 

Surprisingly, it stuck. He was slightly bemused, sporting a small smile that hadn’t appeared since he last talked to Zak. There were two other knives and without recollection, he threw them at the wall too. 

_ Thunk. Thunk.  _ They both landed exactly beside the first knife, both about two inches apart and at the same height. Knife throwing was a small passion he had that ended up becoming a handy skill in his previous home. 

He collected them and threw them again. It was almost soothing, tossing them in quick patterns only to retrieve them again. 

_ Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.  _ He wondered how Zak was doing. 

_ Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.  _ He wondered what would happen next year when he was finally reformed. 

_ Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.  _ He stopped thinking for a while as he calmly threw knives at the wall, never considering how the holes would be repaired. That was a problem for future Darryl. 

He paused as he saw a faint tan figure moving in the halls. The said figure then came out to greet him, sporting a confused smile. He forgot how much he loved that stupid grin. 

“You need something?” he asked, about as friendly as he could. He hoped Zak didn’t interpret it as a shot to the heart, it was a genuine question. He hadn’t seen him in what felt like years, after all. 

Zak cocked his head to the side, a very cute habit he had when he was confused. “Well… why are you throwing knives at the wall?” Darryl threw the three knives at the wall again in a perfect triangular shape. “And how the hell are you so good at it?” 

“Language. And it’s something I’ve been doing since my actual life.” Did he just correct Zak’s language? “A couple centuries of knife throwing makes you good, I suppose.” He’ll ignore the fact that he suddenly cares about curses. 

“Did you just… correct my language?” He won’t ignore the fact that he suddenly cares about curses. “ Since when have you done that?”

He giggled a bit, retrieving the knives and throwing them. “I don’t know? I just did.”  _ Thunk.  _ “Just like that muffin thing.”  _ Thunk. Thunk. _

A moment of silence passed; it was sweet and undisturbed. 

“Fuck.”    
  
“Language!” And just like that, some instinct kicked in out of nowhere again. They both started laughing, greeting the long needed interaction. 

@)---’--,---

Eventually the duo found themselves apologizing for their long absences and laying together on the couch in the living room as they have many times before. Darryl’s head was resting in Zak’s lap as the two cuddled for a sort of protection against a seemingly invisible world. 

He missed this.  _ They  _ missed this. 

There was a sort of silence perpendicular to the mood of the scene. Of course the little objects made their little sounds; the house rested, his hair was mused, and the floors creaked their soprano songs. He decided to interrupt with his own countermelody. 

“Do you love me?”

Darryl could see the walls melting with his question, bleeding a sort of tempo that went against his own. While everyone else was in triple feel, he was stuck in double. The lover musing with his hair paused, if only for a second. 

“If this is about us not talking for a bit, it’s-”

“I know, but do you love me?” 

A horrible silence filled the room, pausing the glorious orchestra of domesticity. Ghosts and demons and fools seemed to fill the space, drowning the two in a hymn of misery. 

“Of course I love you.” The song rose to a crescendo. “I think I’ve loved you since your second year here. I love your looks, your wit, and who you’ve come to be since we’ve met.” Darryl turned to look at him, eyes slightly wide and almost teary. 

They met eyes for a glimpse of a moment, the foam of the sea meeting the clay of the earth. They parted as soon as they were greeted, with Darryl gently nudging his head into Zak’s chest. 

“I love you too.” It hadn’t been said for months, but there it was, the perfect dissonance to the ensemble of lights and sounds and movement. 

He felt his head carefully lifted from the nape of his neck and he obliged. The ocean met the land once again. 

They slowly and carefully leaned into a kiss. It was a beautiful ending to a beautiful piece. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good morning it is me subscribe for more content


	11. The Final Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each year is moment in a year of BBH's redemption program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for suicide mention and a little gore.

It was the tenth year and Darryl was barely ready for what his fate would pursue. It was bittersweet, really; he almost wished he wasn’t going to be redeemed. Then again, he wanted to live with Zak forever. It was a predicament that had an answer. 

The immortal duo found themselves, once again, in their shared living room. What once was a terrifying and semi-real picture had made itself an uncanny yet quite lovely home. In all fairness, Darryl didn’t really understand how heaven could be better than this. This seemed to be the light of his life. 

It was disgustingly domestic, the tranquility that they painted. The hours were decorated with small chats, talk of lives and past lives and future lives. They felt cloaked in each other’s warmth, desperately praying to stay in this spot forever. 

God didn’t listen. 

Darryl felt and watched as his body rose, seemingly useless in controlling his actions. He wanted to scream; there were pins and needles racing upon his damned body and the room swayed on wheels and gears. He was standing and swaying, feeling his mouth open and close while vibrations leaked through gaps. His ears heard church bells and choirs screaming and he wondered why,  _ why  _ this process hurt so horrible. It was a pitiful sight, but he couldn’t help but feel more pity for his lover who was desperately trying to make sense of the situation. 

Zak tried to help, he really did, but his actions seemed to reverb across timelines and dimensions. Each hand he placed upon his skin burned and striked an oxymoronic lyric and all of his words droned to machines whirring and buzzing in his mind. If anything at all, he was making this worse; but neither could communicate through the roses and soil in their lungs.

And then there was black. He didn’t get to see his face one last time. 

@)---’--,---

_ Bees buzzed and bugs scattered around him. His eyes opened and he was laying upon a field of flowers, similar to a field he would know years in the future.  _

_ Where was he? _

_ It was odd, it was almost as if he had two minds at once. One mind knew what was going to happen and braced itself, while one mind was experiencing this for the first time. Neither could hear each other; it was a conversation between a boy and an old, old man.  _

_ The body rose. It appeared the newly mind could control it and the other was simply around for the free ride. It rose and it knew where to go, presumably.  _

_ It walked. The view from the stagnant mind was, surprisingly, not horrible. There was a path it was walking upon and the wildgrass guided it’s wits to strangers and lovers alike. Trees stalked the body and the now setting sun hushed it’s goodbyes. It was as if it had been here before, not only in one mind but in both.  _

_ The path faded and a cabin appeared. So that’s how the stagnant mind recognized the placement of the body.  _

_ The head looked down. In its left hand was a list, in its right was a set of knives made for stealthy kills. There was one name left. It was sickeningly familiar.  _

_ It crouched beneath the window of the cabin despite the mute mind’s screams. It stayed for a long, long time, seemingly calculating when the sun ran down and the perfect time to commit the flawed crime. The mind wished it could close its eyes and vomit.  _

_ Night had fallen and it managed to open the window after searching through it. It tumbled in with a silent thud, staying on the ground to remain quiet. This process seemed to be drawn out for years, never ending and never reaching its climax.  _

_ How odd that Zak was never the wiser, despite being in the next room.  _

_ It walked through the seemingly spare bedroom it had landed, destined to be a home for a much happier pair later. It was crouching as well, never wanting to give off an impression, though it was too dark to see.  _

_ It opened the door. A tan man with black hair shifted in his spot on his bed.  _

_ He rose and screamed garbled language, approaching it too quickly for his liking. The knife hit his throat before he could kill it.  _

_ The blood spurted from his throat in gushes of ribbons, seemingly craving to disobey gravity. It was a slow and painful death for him, sputtering as it watched him in the eyes, those brown, brown eyes… _

_ It looked at the despair of the human it had killed. There was something so peculiar and unearthly about the demeanor of this victim. He pleaded at it with his dying, sobbing eyes, reaching a hand out in horrible vain. It was horrible vain, and once he realized, he let it fall down again. The death was quiet with no sound echoing from his throat.  _

_ He faded into smoke. It screamed and killed itself with the very weapon it worked with.  _

@)---’--,---

He faded back into reality, crying and screaming as Zak held him in his arms. The static feelings disappeared and the bells faded in the distance. His mind screamed with the life of his horrible past and his eyes bled tears and wine. Of course he had lived through his whole life, but that memory… it had lasted and echoed stronger than any memory he could fight. 

Sobbing into the chest of his beloved, he found his mouth moving as it had before; it screamed without warning and without sense. There were gentle hushes and words soothed in his ear but this situation wasn’t so simple. He had  _ murdered _ him, he had slaughtered him and shortly himself and he was dirty and wrong and a horrible creature. 

If this was what redemption was, he’d rather rot once more.

As the scene dialed down and he came to the reality of his savior, his screams turned into cries and his cries turned into sobbing. He clawed at Zak’s skin to remind himself that he was  _ alive  _ and he tugged at his hair to remind himself that he had been forgiven. 

They had been heaped on the floor for so long, with the hours accumulating and combining into a day. They were calm now, accepting the silence and refusal to speak of what had happened; it was a pitiful silence that was only broken by occasional hiccups. 

“Darryl?” He was answered with a sad, sad hum. 

Zak pointed to the door that usually led outside. Instead of the daylight that usually accompanied it, there was a blinding white stream creeping just under the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its almost the end....
> 
> guys this has fucking 6k hits and i actually might cry!!! yall are SO fucking awesome and i cant wait for yall to finish this. its been a long one, hasnt it? 
> 
> i love each and every one of you. this fic has seen so much, from my greatest days to my darkest and even when i had covid.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.

It was almost painful, yet blissful to walk through the blinding door and find where everybody else spent their time. The forest was gone, the cottage was gone, all of the remnants of the last ten years were gone. In its place stood two angels: one pure and one covered in filth. 

Darryl’s ears rang with bittersweet success as Zak started to bounce up and down, excitedly grabbing his arm and pulling him from place to place. It was strange how they got here; and he was right: this was entirely like a sort of endless mansion with varying shades of white and no furnishings. It appeared they came from a closet of sorts. 

Along the way to some path one of them knew, they paused. Zak peered at him curiously, asking what had gotten into him. Darryl couldn’t hear him, of course; his mind was too busy acting numb. 

His back had a new weight of wings upon it and his new halo felt like a migraine. Despite his new form he felt light; he felt as if he could fly away if someone so much as breathed on him. His eyes remained wide and his brain remained shocked, as if preventing him from realizing what had happened:  _ he had been forgiven.  _ It had hurt, but he had been forgiven. 

“I made it,” he managed to breathe out, looking his love in the eyes. “I made it, and I’m an angel.” A solemn tear fell down his cheek. It stung. 

Then he was being hugged by awkward arms unaccustomed to the new wings. Of course he held back but one reoccurring thought swarmed through his brain:  _ “Why am I not happy about this?”  _

_ “I did everything right. I finished the program and I fell in love. I loved, and I hurt, and I forgave and I was forgiven, but why am I not happy? Did I fail?”  _

They spent seconds upon minutes evoked in the hug, neither wanting to part. They made it. 

When Zak finally broke off, his eyes were shining with pride and he looked like the happiest being in the world. Darryl figured he could ignore himself for right now.    


“Come, I need to show you all my friends!” 

@)---’--,---

The endlessly white day was spent running around endless rooms to where Zak’s friends tended to stay and chat. Darryl met many odd and curious angels, as well as some more monotone and laid back. The most interesting person he met was someone who went by the nickname Vurb, who seemed to instantly notice their deep bond of love. He made a mental note to get back and talk with him some more. 

It wasn’t until the end of the day when he met this infamous Dream character, as well as his friends Nick and George. Upon meeting the fellow flawed for the first time, their eyes locked and spoke a truth only they could understand; it was a truth full of misery and well deserved pain. 

They introduced each other and noted their past, eventually separating their conversations from the others. Dream looked at him with the truth present in his eyes again, leading him to a separate corner. It was abandoned enough; there didn’t seem to be privacy in heaven. 

Right. Heaven. He was in heaven. 

Both leaning against the wall, they let themselves be taken by the silence shared between the damned. It was heavy and thick and neither wanted to speak, fearing the choking sensation they’d have to feel opening their throats. 

“So you fucked up too?” Dream smiled a sad thought as he looked up into Darryl's eyes. 

“Language, muffinhead.” The brief comedic relief brought them well needed joy and a chuckle before the inevitable conversation. “But yes, yes. I messed up too.” 

The silence welcomed them in waves, each stronger than the last. Faint communication roared past their ears, and as he looked up, he saw Zak staring at him with a twinge of fear in his eyes. He didn’t return to them just yet.

“You’re the second redeemed, you know that, right?” He snapped back to attention. “I was the first. That was centuries ago.” 

Nodding, he chose how to reply exceedingly carefully. “I suppose that makes sense. People keep staring at me.” It wasn’t untrue, but there was every possibility he was making it up. He was always making things up. 

“It gets hard,” Dream continued, “being one of… y’know, us.” Silence. “Some days I wonder if I chose the right option.” 

“I don’t know if I did either.” He let go of a breath that lasted centuries. “Why was redemption so horrible? Why would you relive your entire memories if all they brought was pain?” His form threatened to rebell in on itself, wanting to curl up and cry. “Why am I not happy?”

“What you relived wasn’t your life. And what He made you remember after your… ‘game’ wasn’t your life either. You were lied to the entire time.” It was shocking, but it was expected. “You never remember what truly happened. It never comes back.” 

They looked into each other's eyes. Dream’s was the nicest of green, so much more refined and detailed than his. 

“It was all fake? My misery was faked?” He nodded, looking away. “Then… then why? Why make us go through such horrible memories if they were fake? Does anybody remember anything?” 

“Some things aren’t fake,” he started. “If it’s not horrible, it’s probably true. But you murdering Zak never happened.” Tears fell from their eyes. “They told him you’d ‘remember’ doing that, but it never happened. You didn’t even know him in your past life. He was dead before you were born.” Angels stared at them and looked away alike, but they could care less. Both lacking their ability to let pride rest, they started wiping their eyes and retaining their conversation. 

Darryl barely whispered, “Why?”

“To teach us a lesson,” Dream replied, shaking. “To teach us a horrible, horrible lesson you’ll never remember and wish to forget. You’ll never remember who you really killed so you won’t do it again.” Their crying ceased. “It’s fucked up and it doesn’t work. It makes me want to kill again.”

He looked at the ground. His torn shoes were replaced with pure white sandals. “I thought I did everything right.”

Dream looked at him again, tears seeming to threaten to flood. “You did. And I did too.”    


“Is this the end? Is this it?”    
  
Zak approached near them, screaming something at George about being a ‘simp,’ whatever that meant. George, obviously, started screaming at him too. They fought while walking towards the two, slowing their steps. Oh, how this light made him look. 

“This is it, Darryl.” 

They paused. Darryl recalled how lovely and amazing his angel had been to him through all steps of redemption and the welcome of heaven; he recalled most of all how  _ proud _ he had been of him, how he was proud of the delicacy he had made. He remembered how horrible he had been the first year compared to how he was now, and he remembered the first time he realized he was in love. 

“If this is it, then at least I have Zak.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THATS IT FOLKS
> 
> this was SUCH a wild ride, from beginning to end. this was actually going to be scrapped after the first chapter, but im so glad it wasnt. 
> 
> thank you guys for supporting me through this. yall are so incredible
> 
> if you wanna chat or see more of me, my tumblr is @insanetomato. be safe yall <3

**Author's Note:**

> hi whats up its me your boy back at it again with the skephalo fluff except this time its not exactly fluff its just this thanks for reading bye


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